


Lilliputian

by mznaughty01



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Kink Meme, M/M, POV Derek, Penis Size, Self Confidence Issues, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles's penis was just a little bit on the small side. Derek was <s>determined to get his mouth on it</s> fascinated.</p><p>Fill for a kink meme prompt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=673065#t673065) at the [TW Kink Community](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/).
> 
> This is already completed at approximately ~~5,800 words~~. Just working out the edits on the final chapters :-)
> 
> The story is growing as I post it lol.

Seventeen. That was how old the kid looked. At the most.

In all honesty, that was probably being entirely _too_ generous.

With his long, gangly limbs, messy spikes of hair, juvenile wardrobe and general appearance of being uncomfortable in his own skin, it was more likely that he was only fifteen or sixteen. Regardless, however old he was, it was apparent that the kid wasn’t anywhere near the minimum age of eighteen required for admittance to Wolf’s Den.

Derek, however, didn’t show the kid to the door and then push him through it into the parking lot beyond like he normally did with the underage. The teens of Beacon Hills, and the surrounding towns, those who weren’t preoccupied with gaining access to the twenty-one and up clubs, liked sneaking into the first sex shop to ever open up in Beacon County. Six months and the thrill still hadn’t worn off for them yet. Like clockwork, a handful showed up together in a sniggering, giggling group every Friday night after the high schools all played their lacrosse games, whether the team they had been rooting for won or lost and whether it was foul or nice out. It said something that Derek was on a first name basis with quite a few of them despite never having seen any of them outside of the store, being significantly older than them all and there also being less than zero appeal for him when it came to getting acquainted with very much illegal ass.

This kid, though, this kid Derek had never seen before. And it was only Wednesday. And the kid was by himself. It was also hours past curfew. All of that right there was almost enough to pique Derek’s curiosity into letting the kid stay. But what really tilted the scales in the kid’s favor was the fact that he seemed very engrossed by the backs of two bottles of pills, both of which guaranteed to enlarge his penis.

Yeah, Derek didn’t always understand what went on in his mind. Didn’t even try to.

Both of the pills were crap, neither worked. Pipe dreams sold in neat packaging. Worse yet, they weren’t even a money maker for Wolf’s Den. Only reason they carried them in the first place, along with all the other herbs, vitamins, hormones, and lotions in the same family, was because Cora had insisted on ordering them. Under the guise that there were bound to be some men around in need of such desperate remedies. She had voiced a very strong opinion on those men being able to find what they wanted as easily as the other men who came to Wolf’s Den (who favored pornos with big breasted women, the bigger the better), the female population in general (who really liked their bullets) and the straight/gay/bisexual/bicurious boys and girls (who seemed to all want the big, enormous, _stretch your ass ‘til it splits open, fuck yeah_ dildos).

Considering she was a silent partner in this business venture, Derek unfortunately had to cater to some of Cora’s whims despite her reasoning at times being complete bullshit. Like on this particular matter. Derek hadn’t called her out on it, but Laura sure had. Plain and simple, Cora just wanted an easy way to know who to avoid when she prowled the streets looking for a dude to give her a good, hard fuck.

Well, Derek had to give credit where credit was due. Cora _had_ actually been right about there being an interest. At least when it came to one person.

Another few seconds passed and Derek had just about reached the point of approaching the kid to see if he maybe needed some assistance. Of course, that was when the kid nodded to himself, a firm up and down of his head, and returned the bottle of pills in his right hand to the shelf. He approached the counter Derek stood behind and set his choice down on top of the backlit glass case which displayed a variety of miscellaneous objects from sex cards to penis shaped lollipops.

Rather than complete the transaction, Derek stared at the kid.

Unaware, the kid looked down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his red and gray hoodie as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Probably going over and over in his head the promises Zytenz made of _Maximum Strength Male Enhancement_ and a _A Better Sex Life_.

Eventually, as they both continued to stand there, silent, an embarrassed flush crept up the kid’s neck to stain his mole speckled jaws and cheeks. A pink tongue darted out to moisten slightly chapped lips that belonged to a wide, generous mouth. Questioning brown eyes rose to meet Derek’s gaze.

And, just like that, it hit Derek.

Jesus, jailbait was not his style. Never had been. But, damn, if this kid wasn’t the reason behind Derek’s cock getting so hard it pressed up painfully against the back of his zipper.

“Is, um, is something wrong?” the kid asked, voice surprisingly deep, several octaves lower than Derek’s.

Arms folded across his chest, and Derek didn’t miss the way the kid eyed his muscles for just a little too long or how he flushed even more red afterwards or how his heart rate picked up before he jerked his attention down towards his feet, Derek said, “Interesting choice there.”

The kid looked up at Derek again, brown eyes all pretty and wide with animation. “It was this or Ron Jeremy’s line and, I don’t care if he _does_ actually have a nine and three-quarter inch dick, I just can’t make myself trust him, know what I mean? Have you _seen_ him? He—” Mid-sentence, the kid broke off from continuing with that line of thought. “Sorry, don’t mean to ramble on about, well, uh, about penis enlargement products.” His shoulders rose up and down in a sheepish, self-conscious gesture. “It’s just, y’know, this one seemed to be the best out of all the options available.”

“This stuff doesn’t actually work.” Derek didn’t even bother picking up the hand scanner, he just bagged the bottle without ringing it up. He slid the bag across the counter until it sat right on the edge, in front of the kid.

“I was planning on paying for that,” the kid said. He yanked his hands out of his pockets, his wallet in one. He flipped it open and pulled out two twenties. “I didn’t come in here expecting freebies, man.”

“I’m not going to charge you for this crap.” Derek folded his arms across his chest a second time (just so he could see the kid react again and the kid did _not_ disappoint), then took a step back, away from the proffered bills. “Already told you, they don’t work, so, really, you’re doing me a favor by taking them out of here. Less stock I have to keep up with.” After thinking on it for a brief moment, Derek added, “But I do need to see some ID.”

If Derek’s request was just for the purpose of verifying exactly how off limit the kid was, well, no one had to know that but Derek’s dick.

A smile played at the edges of the kid’s mouth as he put his money away. “I know I don’t look it, but all this right here?” He made an up and down motion to encompass his entire body. “Totally legal.”

“Good for you. ID.”

The driver’s license the kid placed in the center of the counter caused Derek’s eyebrows to shoot up. Jailbait was actually _not_ jailbait. At twenty-one, Seraphin T Stilinski was five years younger than Derek’s own twenty-six, but he was also very much of age.

And one sniff was all Derek needed to establish the existence of a mutual attraction.

Derek cleared his throat. “Sera—”

“Whoa, stop right there, okay. It’s just Stiles.” Broad hands equipped with long, slender, capable fingers picked up the ID and put it away. And a pained grimace flittered across the kid’s—Stiles’s—expressive face. “I will _never_ forgive my parents for slapping that atrocity on me. Especially not since the damn sadists still think it’s hilarious that they named me Serpent, but that everyone under the sun thinks my name is one letter off from meaning Angel, which is freaking annoying because, in the literal sense, Seraphim also means Burning Ones and Serpent, just like Seraphin does.”

“Okay, Stiles, then,” Derek said, amused. “Are you a Stilinski as in—”

“The Sheriff’s kid? Yep, that would be me. Sheriff Stilinski’s son. The Not!Angel.” Chirps sounded from the pocket of Stiles’s hoodie resulting in him pulling out his cell. He swiped the screen, then spent a few seconds reading before stuffing it, along with his wallet, right back where he had pulled them both out from. “Hey, look, I gotta go.” Stiles grabbed the bag from the counter. “The Supreme Serpent Master himself bides me to stop by tonight for dinner with him and my mother.”

“Star Wars?”

Whole body lighting up and leaning towards Derek, Stiles asked, “You a fan?”

Derek shrugged. “Casually.”

“Dude, you could so be my new forever bro. Because, man, I’ve been trying to get my best friend Scott into Star Wars for years and he still has _yet_ to watch the movies, much less read the comics, and with him off in Massachusetts living with his girlfriend now...” Stiles walked to the shop’s exit and pushed the door open. He stepped over the threshold. “Yeah, I guess sometimes I just find myself wishing for a friend who still lives right here in Beacon Hills with me and who shares some of the same interests that I do.”

As the door slowly swung shut behind Stiles, ushering him out into the night, Derek said, “No matter what you think, what you have is more than enough to satisfy someone somewhere.”

Stiles paused for a moment just outside of Wolf's Den before finally making his way over to a beat up blue jeep, unsurprisingly the sole vehicle in the lot this time of night other than Derek’s camaro. Derek suspected he had been thinking on Derek’s parting words. Just as Derek was currently thinking about what Stiles had last said to him.

There was no part of Derek that wanted to be Stiles’s friend.

Get to know him better? Yes. Possibly start something meaningful with him. Yes. Fuck him? Jesus fuck yes.

But to just be friends? That’s it? Not happening. Stiles’s scent, his _arousal_ , was a heady and intoxicating spicy sweetness that was way too tempting for Derek to not want more.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek had spent the first fifteen years of his life in Beacon Hills. In a house out in the preserve that was still there, now just a burnt out memory of the big, sprawling home it had once been. So he had a passing familiarity with how things worked in Beacon Hills even though he’d left for New York over ten years ago to make a new life with his two sisters and uncle, the four of them the sole survivors of the electrical fire that had taken out the rest of the Hale pack.

Beacon Hills was, essentially, a small city. And life in the small city meant gathering information on Stiles was as simple as Derek mentioning him to the right people. In this case, the right people turned out to be the friends Derek had made since moving back. The next time they all showed up to his loft, located right above Wolf’s Den, for a night of beer, movies and poker, Derek picked their brains to see just what all they knew about Stiles.

_“As in Stilinski?” Boyd asked before taking a healthy swallow of his beer. “We all went to high school with him. Hey, Erica, you remember Stiles, right? Talked non-stop. Spastic. Arms and legs always flying all over the place.” A wide smile broke out across Boyd’s face. “Oh, man, of course you remember him. I almost forgot that he convinced you to dress up as the catwoman to his batman that one year for Halloween. What was that, ninth grade? And if I’m remembering correctly, there wasn’t much convincing actually involved.”_

_Erica reentered the living room from the kitchen, a bottle of water in hand. She plopped down on the couch next to Boyd. “Yeah, I liked Stilinski a little bit back in the day, so what. I wasn’t the only one.” A pointed look was directed towards Isaac. “I just went about my crush in a little less pulling pigtails kind of way than some other people who are also in this room with us tonight and who shall remain nameless.”_

_“Ugh, Stiles, he was, like, asexual or aromantic or, I don’t know,_ something _,” Isaac complained from where he was sprawled out on the floor. “I knew that there was something going on with him, something odd, but I never knew what that something was exactly. Hey, fun fact, Stiles was actually the one who encouraged McCall to go after Lydia Martin when she broke shit off with Jackson that last time. McCall told me himself when I ran into him at the mall a couple years back. And that’s just—”_

 _“Strange,” Erica interrupted. “Stiles worshipped not only the ground Lydia walked on, but the stilettos she wore while doing it. She was the_ only _person he ever looked at that way.”_

_“So what about you two, then?” Derek asked. “And anyone else who was interested in him?”_

_“Didn’t exist, at least not sexually,” Erica said at the same time Isaac answered, “Friend zoned.” They hadn’t even exchanged a glance with one another before reaching that almost accord._

Two weeks later, as Derek watched Stiles enter Wolf’s Den again, he had to wonder if he maybe had an understanding about Stiles that Derek’s friends did not despite them having known him for years longer. Stiles outwardly appeared to be friendly and outgoing. Engaging. Quick to laugh, fast to smile.

Derek was also willing to bet that he had some serious insecurities which ran deep.

“Dude,” Stiles said, marching right up to Derek. He dropped the bottle of Zytenz onto the glass counter which separated them. “These don’t work. Like, at _all_. And there’s a ninety day satisfaction guarantee, I Googled it, so I want my money back.”

“You didn’t pay for them.”

“You’re not supposed to argue with the customers. That’s the number one rule of good customer service.”

“To say you’re a customer implies that you actually bought something.” Lips quirked up at the corners, Derek said, “You. Did not. Pay for them.”

“Bad business, man, bad business.” Laughing, Stiles turned around and headed to the back of store. Stopped in front of the furthermost wall.

And Derek rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes to clear his sight. Which—nope, didn’t help. Not one bit.

“Master gauge. Finger grip. Jackmatic.” From where he stood in front of all the _penis pumps_ , Stiles yelled, “Hey, big guy, lots and lots of choices back here, so you mind letting me in on which one of these will give me the best bang for my buck? Just so you know, best bang in this scenario is me gaining an inch or, y’know, enough to impress a chick when I helicopter dick.”

“Jesus Christ, just pick one. They all do the same thing.”

“Just pick one, he says,” Derek heard Stiles mutter under his breath, the comment clearly not meant for Derek’s ears. “They all do the same thing, he says. Coming from a guy who’s probably lugging around a Boeing 747 in those tight ass jeans of his.”

Thinking about Derek’s “airplane” must have been enough to turn Stiles on, because his spicy sweet arousal filled the air. Derek’s dick reacted predictably. It lengthened and thickened. Reduced the space in Derek’s jeans and forced him into taking advantage of Stiles's preoccupation to reposition himself in an effort to make things a little more comfortable below the belt.

“All right, I’m going with the Precision Pump.” This time Stiles spoke loud enough that it was obvious Derek was supposed to overhear what he'd just said.

And when he approached the counter with his selection in hand, Derek said, “Take it, it’s yours.”

“Not charging me for this one, either?” The expression on Stiles’s face was skeptical.

And Derek was glad for it. Much softer landing on the ass from there down to reality than from way up on hopeful. “This pump,” Derek warned, “while it may make your penis appear larger temporarily, overusing it can cause potential tissue damage that ultimately ends with you and erection problems.”

Stiles visibly recoiled. “Jeez, never let it be said that you’re not a buzzkill, Buzzkill.”

“Derek,” Derek replied, earning himself a smile. “I’m just saying be careful, that’s all.” And as the door to Wolf’s Den slowly swung shut behind Stiles Stilinski for the second time in as many weeks, Derek said, to himself, “I really hope whoever you’re doing all this for is worth it.”

Because Derek didn’t think they were. Not if they didn’t appreciate Stiles the way Derek knew he would if given half the chance, just the way Stiles came, no changes required.

~*~

A week and a half later, when Stiles showed up for the third time, with a bowed head and wide shoulders hunched all the way up to his hairline projecting some serious dejection, all Derek said was, “My loft is right upstairs and I have an unopened bottle of Absolut.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Two shots of Vodka loosened Stiles up enough for him to start emoting all over the place. His eyes weren’t glassy and his speech wasn’t slurred, meaning this wasn’t a case of impaired drunk talk, so Derek didn’t deflect when Stiles opened with, “I shouldn’t even be thinking about telling you this.”

“Tell me anyway.” Derek was sitting on a high stool, back to the bar height counter which designated where the living room ended and the kitchen began, his bent elbows propped behind him on the granite surface of its top.

Stiles was slouched down on the couch, long legs splayed open. His head was tilted to the side, laid against the plush, microfiber cushion of the arm. “I'm an embarrassment. To myself.”

“Hmm.” The choice to not say anything more was a calculated move. This was Stiles’s story and Derek was going to let him tell it. At some point, though, sooner rather than later, Derek _was_ going to take over. Instinctual demands.

“I’m a twenty-one year old virgin, the only one in Beacon Hills probably.” Stiles blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “Sad, right?”

“Unusual.”

“And _sad_.”

“I said unusual and that’s what I meant.” Feet unhooked from the bottom rungs of his seat, Derek hopped down and crossed the short distance to the couch. He removed the empty shot glass from Stiles’s lax fingers, then placed it on the coffee table, safely out the way. As he sat next to Stiles, he was careful to leave some space between them, even if it was only a couple inches. “You dating someone right now?”

“Besides my right hand?” Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, my left.”

“Then who are you going through all of this for? Who’s made you so unhappy with yourself?”

“No one but me, just me.” Long, thick lashes brushed Stiles’s cheeks when his lids fluttered shut. “My dick? Teeny, tiny, man. Microscopic, minuscule. Diminutive even.” He snorted. “Lilliputian. Yeah, that’s it exactly, my dick is lilliputian.”

What. “Seriously?”

“Dude, don’t even try and change my mind. It’s way too late for that. Me and my dick have decided, okay. Of one mind, we are. And we have recognized that he is descended from the land of Lilliput.”

And Derek was done. He didn’t care what was, or wasn’t, between Stiles’s legs. Stiles was untouched and his smell, his want, his _need_ , it was all so fucking right. Stiles smelled like he belonged _to_ Derek.

With that recognition came the compulsion to act on it.

Derek placed a hand on one of Stiles’s thighs. Raised his upper lip in a semblance of a smile that was more the precursor to a territorial growl he just barely prevented himself from letting escape. He didn’t remove his touch, not when Stiles’s eyes flew open, nor when his arms flailed out windmill style as he bolted upright into a sitting position.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles whispered, like he was about to share a conspiratorial secret, “your hand, it’s, uh, it’s on my _leg_.”

“That a problem?”

“Problem? What problem? Nope, it’s not a problem. Not at all. How could it ever be a problem?” Swallowing hard, Stiles continued, “I mean, maybe it's a problem? Possibly? I can’t be expected to think straight right now with your hand so close to my dick, much less answer questions?”

A slide of his hand, then Derek was cupping Stiles’s crotch. Stiles’s desire was thick in the air, cloying, yet there was just the slightest of corresponding bumps under Derek’s palm as proof. “And now?”

“Descendant of Lilliput?” Stiles answered, voice faint and weak.

“And I already told you that what you have is more than enough to satisfy someone somewhere,” Derek said.

Fuck, but he wanted to get his mouth on Stiles. Now. 

He reached for Stiles’s fly. Had the button unfastened, and was just about to start pulling the zipper down, when Stiles grabbed hold to his wrist with a firm grip, stopping him.

“Why are you even interested?” Stiles blurted, eyes big and wild. They promised that he would beat a hasty retreat out of Derek's life without a backwards glance if whatever answer Derek provided wasn’t the right one.

“Does it really matter?”

“Just kind of a lot.”

“Because that someone I was talking about, Stiles, that someone is _me_.” Derek sat back. Took his hand off Stiles. “But you’re not ready for this yet, are you.”

A sad, embarrassed smile spread across Stiles’s face. “Not exactly.”

 _Maybe not ever_ remained unspoken between them.

In that moment, Derek would’ve given anything to have been a part of Stiles’s formative years. To have been a combative force to challenge all the self-esteem issues that had been allowed to run rampant and build themselves up unchecked.

Unable to rein it in, Derek sighed, long and hard. “Will you—I have something else that I’d like to try instead. Will you let me?”

Although his expression was wary, Stiles still nodded.

So Derek went and dug out from the back of his closet the gift Peter had given to him as a joke several months ago, just before their cross country move from New York to California, when he’d first found out about Derek’s plans to open Wolf’s Den and what it was that Derek would be selling there. The gift looked the same as it had the day Peter handed it over with that trademark smarmy grin of his. New, unopened. And not because Derek had never planned to use it, but because he knew any pleasure he derived from it would be secondhand, from its use on someone else, rather than firsthand.

It had remained in his closet strictly because there hadn’t been anyone in a good long while that Derek had wanted to unravel and take apart. No one that he’d wanted to watch come undone. Not until Stiles, that was.

After making two quick stops, one in the kitchen to dispose of the box in the trash and the other by the side of the couch closest to where Stiles sat to plug Peter’s gift into a wall socket, Derek crouched down on the floor in front of Stiles. He nudged Stiles’s long legs all the way apart, then moved forward into the room he’d created for himself before Stiles could change his mind and snap them shut.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, looking at what Derek held. His pulse was accelerated, but his scent carried no traces of fear, only keen interest.

“Hitachi wand.” Clicking the button into the downward position, Derek turned the wand on to the lowest setting. Giving Stiles no warning, he pressed the wide head to the spot he’d palmed earlier. Right on top of the bump that was still no bigger now than it had been then.

Hips immediately jerking upwards, fingers scrabbling at the soft, smooth fabric of the couch, Stiles moaned low in his throat.

With Stiles fixated on the vibrations traveling through his crotch, Derek inhaled a deep gulp of air. His canines elongated just the slightest bit as the scent of precome filled his nostrils.

Derek needed more.

He switched the wand to the highest setting. Watched Stiles grind against it nonstop, listened to the helpless noises which fell from between those pale, pink lips. And was pleased when he saw the healthy patch of wetness darken Stiles's jeans. He had to forcibly stop himself from rubbing his face all over Stiles's lap, from sucking Stiles's come into his mouth straight out the soiled denim.

They’d get there one day. They’d reach the point where Derek was allowed to enjoy everything there was about Stiles. The sounds he made, the taste of him, the sight. But right now? Right now was too soon. Stiles’s mental drawbacks were too much of a tangible roadblock between them.

“Oh, my God,” Stiles said once he was finally coherent, long after Derek had turned the wand off and laid it on the floor. “That was _awesome_.” He met Derek’s gaze, a silly grin on his face. "And we're going downstairs so you can sell me one. Yep, that's what we're going to do. Right now. In just a minute. Soon as my legs start working again. Yeah, sometime this year."


	4. Chapter 4

“So, here's the thing, I have the actual dick of a five year old,” Stiles came right out with after bursting through the door of Wolf’s Den. It had been three days since Derek last saw him, since the night in his loft, but they had talked on the phone in the time they'd been apart from one another as well as had exchanged frequent texts. No matter where their conversations took them, from favorite My Little Pony (Stiles's question because _Yeah, dude, it's a thing, don't ask_ ) to preferred super power (Stiles, again) to goals and aspirations (Derek), they hadn't yet broached this subject. “Well, actually, it’s probably more the size of a three year old’s, but let’s just average it out for the sake of my manhood, okay, and say four.”

A sound of choked surprise came from the back room. Then the lady, a friend of Peter's, who’d been in there perusing through the collars and chains came rushing out, her face an interesting shade of puce.

“ _Melissa_?” Stiles squawked.

“No,” she said, not stopping as she skirted around him to reach the exit.

“But—”

“ _No_.” She was already outside when she added, “I am just going to pretend that I did _not_ see you in here tonight. Or hear anything that you just said.”

And then only Derek and Stiles remained.

Derek huffed out a snort of laughter. “Know her?”

“Yeah, only since, like, _birth_. That was Scott’s mom. _My_ mom’s best friend. What was she doing back there?” Stiles craned his head to get a look into the back room.

From the expression on his face, Derek figured he must've caught a pretty explanatory glimpse of the female mannequin situated just inside the room's entrance, mostly out of sight from the main floor. The one that was decked out in a leather bustier, thigh high fishnets, black boots and elbow length gloves with cut-outs for the fingers. There was a blue and black mini bullwhip looped around her wrist.

She was Peter’s pride and joy. He’d dressed her himself. Which was an experience Derek was still trying to forget. Peter's glee as he'd laced her up had been disturbing, to say the least. So was the way he ogled her every single time he dropped by to see Derek.

It wouldn't have surprised Derek to find out Peter's plan with Melissa was to eventually make her over in the image of the mannequin. 

“Please don’t tell me, please don’t _ever_ tell me,” Stiles pleaded. "There is just so much potential here, though. I feel like I can use this against Scott to my benefit somehow, but I also just _can't_ bring myself to do it. So. much. wasted. potential." As if he could wipe away the embarrassment from his skin, Stiles swiped a hand across the back of his neck. “That really just happened, huh?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t _my_ mom I ran into, right?”

Yeah, but that was only because she’d come in the day before. On the arm of the Sheriff. Derek had known the woman who’d given birth to Stiles soon as he’d set eyes on her. Stiles looked just like her, from the color of his eyes on down to his infectious grin. But Derek was going to keep the info of yesterday's visitors to himself. Since Stiles had made the right choice and all by deciding to not traumatize his best friend. The elder Stilinskis purchase of a double sided, _fuchsia_ dildo would remain their secret for now. “Small favors.”

“Thank _God_.” Stiles’s head bobbed up and down in rigorous agreement. 

Derek shook his own in amusement. “Flip the sign to closed and lock that door.”

“What? Closing already? Kinda early, isn’t it?” Despite the questions, Stiles did as Derek requested.

“Perk of owning your own business.”

Since their last encounter, Derek had spent a lot of time, too much, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Stiles. Now was as good a time as any to get started far as he was concerned. He rounded the counter, then headed to the last aisle of the shop, stopping about halfway down, well away from the door and all windows.

Curious, Stiles followed.

Derek removed a small box from the wall, then turned towards Stiles, holding it out between them for Stiles’s inspection. “Willing to let me try this on you?”

The way Stiles’s eyes lit up, it was obvious that he was. But there was also hesitance there, a clear reluctance. Although Derek had been hoping for full skin-on-skin contact this time, he was willing to compromise if Stiles was. For the moment.

“But you have to lose the jeans.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think I can, I mean, it's not that I don't want to, but, yeah, y'know, it's just—”

“You’ll lose the jeans, but keep your underwear.” And Stiles’s willingness to comply was a heavy scent which let Derek know he was going to get what he wanted before Stiles even nodded his assent. “Go ahead and get undressed.”

“How is it, again, that we're going to do this in a way that lets me keep my underwear on?” The question was muffled by the shirt which covered Stiles’s face as he yanked it off over his head.

“You’ll keep them, but you’re also going to let me _in_ them long enough to do what I need.”

“ _O_ -kay, then.” Stiles unfastened his pants and let them drop to the floor. He kicked them, along with the shoes he'd toed off, to the side with an enthusiasm that was clumsy, made him come off as too eager, rather than sexy. It was endearing. Clothed only in white socks and white boxer briefs, he stood there, waiting. “Now what?”

Not even trying to hide his appreciation, Derek looked Stiles up and down. Miles and miles of milky white skin that was marred only by the dark trail of hair which began at Stiles’s navel and ended somewhere beneath the Hanes waistband of his boxer briefs and also by the occasional mole. A veritable blank canvas that just begged to be adorned and decorated.

One day, Derek would mark all that up with bites and hickeys. One day...

But, for now, "Get on your hands and knees.”

Once Stiles was in position, face down, ass up, Derek sat next to him. He ran his hand over first one cheek, then the other, drawn in by their pert tightness. When he heard Stiles’s sharp, sucked in gulp of air, Derek smiled.

He opened the box and laid out its contents on the floor. The prostate massager he’d chosen was a knock off of the aneros but one which provided just as good results and at a cheaper price. Plus, it also came with a little tube of lubricant that Derek now used to very generously prepare the hard piece of curved plastic for immediate use.

Stiles’s head was turned to the side and he peered back at Derek. “Always wanted to try one of those.”

“Now you will.” One hand holding the slicked up massager, Derek used the other to slide down the underwear Stiles wore just enough to see all that was revealed between his spread open cheeks. He also caught a tempting hint of tight, wrinkled balls. “This all new to you? Or do you play with yourself sometimes? Use your fingers to open yourself up? Fuck yourself on them?”

“S-s-sometimes I do,” Stiles admitted in a stutter as Derek fed the toy to his greedy, hungry hole.

“One day you’re going to do it in front of me. You’re going to give me a show, do all the things to yourself that you like, that make you come. Then I'm going to do all of them to you. And more.” With a gentle push, Derek made sure the massager was firmly inserted, then tugged the boxer briefs back up and into place. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” The answer was breathy, given as Stiles humped at the air, chasing after the immediate pleasure given by the clenching of his ass and the pressure it caused to his prostate.

“Goddamn, you’re—” Beautiful? Gorgeous? Stunning? They were true, all three of them, but none conveyed what Derek was truly thinking, so he said nothing at all. Instead, he placed a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck and pushed, forced Stiles off his hands and down to his forearms, his face buried in between them, one flushed cheek pressed flat to the cool tiles of the store's floor. “I can make it better, Stiles. Let me, _let_ me make it better.”

“Oh, my God, all right, _okay_ , you had me at the first better.”

Back to the ground, body stretched out behind Stiles, Derek placed his head between Stiles’s bent knees. He urged Stiles down with a firm grip, guided that little white covered bump straight to his face.

Nosing around Stiles’s crotch, Derek inhaled. And, christ, the smell, _the smell_. Clean and strong. Undiluted. Pure _Stiles_.

Derek wrapped his lips around the outline of Stiles's dick. It wasn't even a mouthful. Less than. But more than enough.

The sweet little whimpers and sighs Stiles so freely gave up. The way he worked his hips, rocking desperately into the warm wetness that Derek provided, against Derek’s insistent tongue. It was almost more than Derek could handle.

There was no way he wasn’t getting his taste this time.

Sucking hard, Derek used a palm to press the prostate massager deep into Stiles, held it there, against that sensitive gland. Held Stiles in place, too, with his other hand flat on Stiles’s lower back, granted no reprieve, even as Stiles so thoroughly broke apart above him. Stiles bucked, humped Derek’s face, squeezed Derek’s ears tight between his quivering thighs.

“Der- _Derek_ ,” Stiles moaned. “I-I’m—” He broke off on a long, deep groan.

Right through the cotton boxer briefs, Derek nursed Stiles through his orgasm. Swallowed every single drop that Stiles gave up to him. Savored all of it. And wanted more.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _And_ that’s another thing. I would _appreciate_ it if you stopped calling me pony. _I_ am a Lady and I wish to be addressed as such. So you may call me Miss. Or Rarity. Or Miss Rarity.”

Derek and Stiles were sprawled out side-by-side on the bed which took up the whole far corner of Derek’s loft, Stiles with his head on Derek’s chest. They were watching an episode of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. With Stiles quoting every single line. From _memory_.

They’d started out with Revenge of the Sith. Then had taken a left turn from George Lucas’s imagination at some point during the evening and ended up in the land of Equestria.

Stiles’s imitations were accurate, his intonations correct. His timing was exact.

And it was all just so ridiculous that Derek laughed. Couldn't have held it in even if he'd wanted to. Stiles made him that happy.

“What?” Stiles asked, eyes fastened to the screen of the tv. He was focused on the white pony with the purple hair who had just made it known to her canine captors that she was _not_ whining, only complaining, and then proceeded to give them a very annoying, and effective, demonstration of whining to highlight the difference. “This is Rarity’s defining moment here, man, the moment it became clear to everyone that she is so much more than just a stuck up shit. Rarity is the HBIC.”

“Yeah, well, she still ain't no Rainbow Dash,” Derek replied.

Stiles flipped over to his stomach so he could stare at Derek. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, but failed to make any sounds. Until he was finally able to force out a shocked, “ _Dude_ , you have so been holding out on me. You _do_ know your ponies.”

Only because Derek had Googled them a few weeks back and watched videos on YouTube. It wasn't his proudest moment so he had no plans on confessing. It had happened the night Stiles texted to ask who his favorite pony was and Derek’s answer of _Artax_ had elicited a response of _:-/_ followed by _Ur going with a neverending story? Srlsy?_

Derek loved the book and still to this day considered the movie to be a favorite even though it had already been ancient and outdated by the time he was a child and watched it for the first time. So, yeah, he’d gone with A Neverending Story because of Artax who hadn't deserved to die. Besides, to Derek, a pony was a pony was a pony.

"Of course your taste _would_ suck," Stiles complained with a grimace, "Rainbow Dash is—"

"Loyal." With a wink, Derek explained, "That's her element. Loyalty."

 _Loyal_.

 _Loyalty_.

The two words reverberated through Derek's brain, bringing him to the single most important realization of his life. Funny that it arrived so quietly, with My Little Ponies playing in the background and with Stiles gawping up at him. There was no boom, no bang. While Derek's world had just underwent a crucial change, reoriented itself to center around Stiles, life for everyone else went on as normal.

Things had been progressing nicely between him and Stiles. They had spent long nights talking about any and everything. And, sometimes, talking about nothing at all, just enjoying each other’s company. There had also been further explorations of Stiles’s reactions to toys and more blowjobs through his underwear, Derek always giving because touching Stiles, tasting Stiles, _that’s_ what got Derek off and it never failed to get him off _hard_.

And it all led up to the inevitable conclusion Derek had just reached: he had bonded to Stiles. Stiles, who still had yet to even let Derek see all of him. Because, despite their few short weeks together with Derek continuously building Stiles up each and every second, Stiles had spent a lifetime suffering under the misconception that he was somehow less of a man than the next guy and that was a tough, almost impossible, hurdle to overcome.

Derek grabbed the remote off the bed from next to Stiles and flicked the tv off. Tossed it down to the ground where it landed on top of the clothes they’d discarded earlier that were now littered across the floor.

“Yeah, still watching that,” Stiles immediately protested.

“I want to suck you,” Derek said.

“ _Buuut_ I think I like your plan better.” Already stripped down to just his boxer briefs, Stiles fell down flat on his back next to Derek, hands clasped behind his head and a grin on his face. “Don’t let me stop you. Feel free to sex me up.”

“No, Stiles, I want to suck _you_.”

The smile faded from Stiles’s face in slow increments as understanding set in. It was immediately replaced with his ever present insecurity.

“You can say no,” Derek said, “you know that, I won’t push you, so just tell me if you’re not ready, but you should also know by now that I’m not going anywhere.”

Which was the truth. It was in Derek’s nature to remain by Stiles’s side, to be _loyal_ , it was part of who Derek was, his heritage. _Loyalty_. But Stiles didn’t know any of that, couldn't, because he didn’t know _what_ Derek was. At least not yet, he didn't.

It all came down to one simple truth: The only way Derek would _ever_ leave now was if Stiles pushed him away.

Even then, Derek would still be there, as just as a friend, a confidant, as whatever Stiles needed, always available and around. Werewolves didn’t bond to other werewolves easily, unless they were family, never mind bonding to humans at all. So that meant the bond that had developed and formed, attaching Derek to Stiles, was solid. Had an unshakable foundation.

“Not going anywhere,” Derek repeated.

He pushed up to his knees next to Stiles. Hands at the waistband of the underwear Stiles wore, he waited. When it came, the nod was small, barely perceptible, but sweet, sweet permission granted nonetheless. Sliding Stiles’s boxer briefs down his strong, toned legs, Derek whispered repeated assurances of _never gonna leave you_ against the soft skin of Stiles’s belly and _be right here with you always_ into the crook of his hip to soothe away the doubt that was always there, always present, always haunting Stiles.

Finally, _finally_ , Stiles was bare. Fully exposed to Derek. His dick was a cocklet, the visual true to what Derek already knew from having put his mouth on it through Stiles’s underwear so many times.

The words that had escaped Derek a few weeks back, the night he’d first sucked Stiles, easily found their way to him now. “Jesus, Stiles, christ, you're _perfect_.”

A hand, unsteady with uncertainty, reached down and touched the side of Derek’s face. Derek guided it to his head. Curled his own fingers around Stiles’s to ensure Stiles had a firm grip on Derek’s hair.

Then Derek breathed in Stiles's musky scent, took him in his mouth. He licked all around Stiles’s stiff, hot flesh, around the head revealed by the retracted foreskin, down the small length of the shaft. Enjoyed the mess Stiles was making on his tongue, his precome flowing freely, nothing to impede it for the first time.

When Stiles came, he was as vocal as he normally was, _Oh, my God_ ing several times between low moans of _Derek_ as hard shudders vibrated through his body. He held Derek in place with a hand at the back of his head, leaving nowhere for his come to go but _in_ Derek, who gladly accepted it all.

And was thankful for it.

Right along with Stiles’s myriad of self-esteem issues.

They had brought Stiles into Derek's life. Increased the likelihood of him staying there. They tied him to Derek, invisible fetters that were the equivalent of Derek's bond, which was a one way street type of deal otherwise.

Damn, but those were some fucked up thoughts. Definitely not the kind meant to turn Derek on even more than he already was. The sudden attack of morality, however, didn’t stop Derek’s dick from twitching in his underwear.

The road ahead of them was going to be difficult. There was no such thing as an insta-fix for Stiles's insecurities, just time and patience. Derek had both in spades, thankfully, and he would be there for as long as Stiles let him. The reassurances he planned to continue giving would be frequent and genuine. Nonstop. And though things were definitely more than just sexual between them, Derek's attraction to Stiles surpassing just the physical, when it came right down to it, lilliputian or not, yes, all that Stiles possessed between his thighs was enough, _was just right_.

Stiles was perfect. For Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> You guys response to this story has been phenomenal! Thank you very much for every comment and every kudos!
> 
> Now on to plotting my next story. I really, really want to write Braeden/Derek, but I don't think I could manage more than 1,500 words of those 2, but, guh, they would be _so_ hot together. Ah, well, if I don't write it, maybe someone else will and I can just read to my heart's content :-)
> 
> Feel free to stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [mznaughty01](http://mznaughty01.tumblr.com/).


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